


lover/soldier

by truehumandisaster



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truehumandisaster/pseuds/truehumandisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anger like they had never known; panic like that which could not be understood. Tensions boiled beneath the skin of New York as the anti-mutant movement spilled into the limelight, and robotic Sentinels have been sent out to patrol the city to keep these powered beings in line. With the secrets of SHIELD out in the open, it seems the world is trying to move past the age of heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arm's length

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the endnotes for some of the canon divergence path we’ve taken, and hold onto your seats! It’s gonna be a wild ride. Also, I wrote this with my best girl, Cami, so pre-game shoutouts to the light of my heart!

It was hardly wise for Steve Rogers to attend the riot. He wasn’t a mutant; this wasn’t his space. Even still, it was important for him to understand what was occurring – to understand the fury of the people. He slipped his baseball cap low over his face and put on the glasses he had been given what felt like ages ago ( had it really only been a few months? ), slipping into the crowd easily enough. They hadn’t exactly been difficult to find, after all. Police lined the edges of the street, donned in full riot gear, but it was the sight of the Sentinels behind them that riled the crowd.

MURDERERS, the crowd chanted louder.

His attention was so focused on everything that was going on that he hardly noticed the woman in front of him until he collided with her. Offering a hundred different apologies, he grabbed hold of her elbow to steady her. “You alright there? I must’ve gotten lost in the moment.”

Wanda Maximoff moved through the crowd easily, trying to get a better vantage point of the Sentinels. The energy of the crowd was literally intoxicating to her. She chanted with the other mutants, her eyes flashing red. _Murderers. **Murderers**_. 

The riots reminded her of home a bit. Though in Sokovia, they were protesting against a foreign military. It was a different kind of war here.

It was probably stupid to be there, especially if the Sentinels or riot police recognized her. She was a fixture at the riots; they knew her face. She didn’t come to be shielded, though. Her place was at the forefront of danger. She slipped in and out between bodies, not seeing the brick wall of a man in front of her until they collided. The brick wall in question reached out for her, apologies flying from his mouth.

“Americans are so apologetic. It was as much my fault as it was yours, darling. It’s easy to get caught up.” She regarded him from down below, his hand still on her arm. “You don’t come to these things often, no?” She waved a hand at his tense posture before offering it out to him. He gave a slight nod of his head, and she continued. “Come, stick with me. If we move to the front, you will really get a show.”

He remained close to her as they made their way to the front row. Tension was thick in the air, and the chants were far closer to a roar. The riot police looked at him without seeing; they desensitized themselves to the crowd in the same way he had out in the field. Sometimes, that was all you could do to keep moving in a war zone. 

In the thick of the crowd, it was easy to forget it was winter time. They stood as a single unit, burning in their righteous hatred, and Steve could understand what was so alluring about it all. The anger was beginning to affect him as well. ( Hadn’t he said time and time again that he didn’t like bullies? Wasn’t that what the government, _his government_ , was being? ) 

“What’s your name?” he found himself calling over the building sounds that seemed to emit from all around.

“I’m Wanda. Some call me the Scarlet Witch.” She rolled her eyes ( though she secretly loved the nickname ). She raised her voice, talking to him over her shoulder as they walked forward, pushing people out of the way as the energy seemed to amplify. “We should stop here. Things might get violent. You’ll see what I mean by a show.” Wanda turned back around to face him, pulling on the sleeves of her coat before crossing her arms. “What’s your name? I won’t hold it against you if you lie, though I should probably warn you; I can read minds.“ She threw him a small smile, hoping that her comment wouldn’t freak him out.

“Name’s Steve, and, ah, that’s my real one. Good to meet you, Wanda, although the circumstances aren’t the best.” ~~He wondered if she really could read minds~~. He hadn’t _heard_ of anything like that, although he supposed he shouldn’t have been too surprised. There were all sorts of powered people running around these days; telepathy would have cropped up sooner or later. “I haven’t been to a protest in a while – and none quite like this.” The last big riot he remembered was for a couple of low paying jobs out in Brooklyn before the serum had taken hold of his body. It had ended with a few bloody noses, and no one happier at the end of the day. ( Hunger made a man do cruel things. ) _Mutants_ hadn’t been a term used back then; their war was a hundred leagues away, not on their own damn doorstep. “The way things are going, it’ll definitely get violent – ” When it came to such action, who did he protect? The ones who had a war in their hearts or the ones who dressed for one? 

“Yes, I really can read minds.” She answered his unspoken thought but was careful not to pry. She would hate for someone to snoop through her mind so she tried her best to not do it to others. Especially not the tall-blonde-puppy-dog types. “And listen: this isn’t the place to be the hero. You seem like the type, which isn’t a bad thing, but it could get you killed. These Sentinels won’t hesitate to shoot at anyone in their line of fire and unless you can survive point-blank bullet to the head…” She trailed off, drawing a line with her thumb over her neck. ( At what point did the possibility of being killed no longer shock her? Maybe it was the first time she waited to die. Ten years old with a mortar shell staring her in the face. )

The screaming got louder: anger was a physical force around them. It was potent, so strong you could taste it. A metallic bitterness. It was unshed blood, waiting to be spilled.

At her words, he let out a soft chuckle. “People have been telling me that for a long while, miss. I’m not too good at listening to them. These Sentinels and the people who run them are asking for trouble they can’t properly deal with. People have already gotten hurt, and soon, they’ll start getting killed. I can’t let that happen. If they strike, I strike back.” And if he died in the process… Well, that sure as hell wouldn’t work in the company’s favor, would it? “I’m more worried about the bystanders. I don’t think Sentinels much care for the difference between those who are violent and those who aren’t.”

“Getting tear-gassed is always better with a friendly face; the circumstances could be worse.” She laughed in-spite of herself. On the one hand, Wanda wondered why she even still bothered with the riots. They were symbolic, she guessed. They made people feel empowered, if even for a moment, but Wanda was tired of symbolism. “You’re right, though. About the Sentinels not caring about who is being violent and who is being non-violent. Everyone is a fair target once their game begins. And it looks like their timer is set.”

“That’s comforting.”

“The world isn’t so black and white though, is it? Good guys versus bad guys is a story for children. Because I think, _I think_ , I am a good person… but my hands are bloody, Steven. – Is it okay if I call you Steven?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “If comes down to it, I’ll probably follow you into war. This _is_ war, Steven. A different kind of war than I am used to. More sinister, almost.” Wanda looked back up towards the Sentinels. They all looked identical, ready for an unrighteous battle. In theory, Wanda herself could probably level the city and take all the Sentinels under with her. ~~But what would that solve?~~

“Sure, call me Steven if you want. I haven’t heard anyone call me that since my school days.” Her words sounded like an echo of things he had heard before – from Natasha, from himself. She spoke as someone with experience, and he couldn’t help but wonder what that experience was. “Things are more straightforward than people like to believe,” he spoke quietly, pausing a beat before he continued. “ – But sometimes, you have to compromise. Sometimes, when pushing back against what the world throws at you, your knuckles get bruised and your hands get bloody. You said it yourself: it’s war. I guess it all comes down to what you’re fighting for.” 

He had never been in a war like this before though. It left a sour taste on his tongue. 

“I know what I’m fighting for.” Wanda believed in humanity, though humanity did not believe in her. She was jaded, she had been through so much, but her heart was as sticky and syrupy as it was the day she was born. “I am fighting for a world where just because you are different, doesn’t mean you are hated. For a world where war will not steal my children’s innocence. World peace, as cliché and impossible as it may be.” 

She didn’t usually do this, make herself vulnerable to strangers. That was something reserved only for her family. Well, for Pietro ( he was her whole family. ) But this man, Steven, had a hurricane in his eyes. “Is this country not supposed to be the ‘land of the free’ with ‘liberty and justice for all’? But look around us. They have metal men here to take us to the slaughter. I deplore violence, but I cannot, will not, stand by as people are annihilated. I’m sure that is something you agree with, even if you are not a mutant yourself.” She wouldn’t be a victim again, not this time. “People are scared, mutants and humans both. We should not be divided. We are not enemies! It is the people who use that fear to control us that should be our enemy.” 

“You know, I once had to deal with what happens when a man thinks he can segregate an entire group of people. I fought it then; I’ll fight it now.” The first history lesson he had delved into upon waking up from the ice was from his own day, and history had not been kind. “So you’re right about me. I won’t stand by and let it happen to mutants or to anyone else. I don’t know if I can change public opinion, but I can promise I’ll do everything in my power.” ~~Tony~~ Pepper was the one who dealt best with the public relations ( his only experience had come with a script ), but he knew it might go a long way for him to not only publicly condemn the Sentinel program – which he had, on numerous accounts – but for him to stand beside the mutants. “You might be able to help me with that, because it sure sounds like we’re on the same side, Wanda. I don’t know if we’ll achieve it in our lifetime, but fighting a little bit stirs up something in people – passes it along so that they start fighting too.” _Revolution_ was one word for it, but Steve would never call it that. It was hanging onto the very idea of what America should stand for: freedom, liberty, justice. He still had faith in it, still had faith that the government didn’t want this chaos on their door. He had fought for it too long for it not to matter now, but always, the people came first. “It sounds black and white to me.” 

Dark anxiety swam in her stomach. She knew that the status quo would not hold, that things always got worse before they got better. She just didn’t know where worse would take them.

Steve stared at the cold, metallic bots, and he thought about the ones he and his team had taken out under the dark cover of night. The officials were turning out as bad as HYDRA – take out one, and two more took its place. It made him feel useless, and he hated feeling useless. “Taking out the Sentinels doesn’t solve a damn thing. We would have to go to the source.”

“What would you consider the source? The police behind the robots? Those hate-mongering news anchors on television? The United States government? I’m asking, genuinely, because I don’t kn– “ Her words were cut short as the loud, cannon-like sound of a stun grenade reverberated through the street. Then again. And again. She jumped out of reflex, the sound startling her despite the countless amount of times she had heard it in the past.

Before he could respond, a loud noise sounded that caused him to grit his teeth and shove himself in front of her and the nearest people around them. ( Old habits died hard. ) He wished he had his shield or _something_ , but as the second one sounded, he realized it was something the crowd was intimately familiar with, although he lacked any knowledge on what the hell the grenades were. Some in the crowd yelled louder; others rubbed their eyes in pain. 

“What are they doing?” Another one sounded, and his own vision skewed in the blinding flash that accompanied it. “ – Get back!”

Wanda was shoved behind Steve before she had a chance to react. She ducked under his arm, nudging him as she started to feel a faint burn in the air. “It’s tear gas, try not to breathe. If you inhale, it will start to suffocate you.” Wanda pulled her scarf up around her mouth and reached behind her, digging in her bag to pull out a handful of little white squares. “Some alcohol pads. Weird, I know, but the gas will make your lungs shut down if you don’t trick your brain. This helps.” She spoke quickly, hoping to get everything out in one breath. She stood still for a moment, trying to the feel the direction of the wind. It was blowing to the right, so she spoke quickly again, loudly this time so that everyone near her could hear. “налево! To the left, away from the wind.” 

The tear gas continued in rapid succession, canisters flying around them. One hit her in the shoulder. She cursed, releasing a blast of red energy at it and knocking it back towards the Sentinels. “Fucking gas. It burns.” She looked at her shoulder, the heat from the canister burnt through her shirt and left a nasty looking burn.

The sounds died down, the gas made the air smoky and people were coughing all around them, tears falling from their eyes. Wanda included. She grit her teeth against the pain of her shoulder and moved around Steve again, giving out more of the alcohol pads to the people around them “Sniff it, it helps. If you feel ill, move back. They will start with the bullets next,” she warned the people around her. The original group was fragmented now, leaving them more vulnerable.

She walked back towards Steve, adjusting her bag so it didn’t rub against her shoulder. “Too bad the one thing I can’t do is heal quickly. Are you all good? Not so bad, hm?”

It became abundantly clear that she knew what the hell she was doing, and as he had no idea how to handle this new threat ( anything that made one feel as if they were suffocating would definitely be considered a **threat** ), he stepped aside and let her take command. He slowed his breath, same as he did every time he was about to jump out of a plane, and while it helped, he still felt wrong. When she offered him one of the alcohol pads, he took it without hesitation, mumbling out a quiet _thank you_ that was carried away by the winds. 

People followed her commands, traveling away from the wind, but it didn’t seem to help as much as he had hoped. There was far too much gas, and the smoke only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked on. He took a short breath of the alcohol pad, which caused things to move into focus, but when a blast of red shot of beside him, he felt a rush of anger toward the Sentinels – toward the people who controlled them, safe in their desks a hundred miles away. “You okay?” 

He didn’t get an immediate answer – too much was going on. He kept close by her side, feeling exposed without his shield and useless in the face of an unseen enemy. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and made sure to stay close beside her. This was her territory, and she flourished, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make himself useful. 

“Next time, let me take the hit. I’m good at healing fast.” He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what was happening, but he could smell danger in the air. “I’m fine though. You really think they’ll do another wave? These people are already scattered. Anything more is…unnecessary.”

She gave Steve a sad smile, wrapping her arms around herself as she waited for the air to clear. “Everything about this–” She paused, waving a red-tinged arm around them. “is unnecessary. The people behind those Sentinels get off on watching us flail. Watching us choke.” Her ears perked up at the mention of his fast healing. “You’ll have to tell me more about that. Don’t worry, I won’t go digging into your mind. I prefer my friendships to be based on mutual trust and respect.” Years of experience gave her an almost supernatural ability to know what to expect at riots. Reading the energy of the crowd and of the troops was typically pretty simple. Things got complicated when the soldiers were tin men, though. “I prepare myself for the worst, always. Some days they come only with the gas. Other days, the worst days, they bring out the snipers.” She pointed to the tops of the buildings around them, where the snipers would usually be in position. “Cowards. But it seems that today they left them at home.”

She heard the distinct click-snap of the Sentinels mechanically changing the cartridges of their guns. “See? They are changing to rubber bullets. Cover your head when you hear it.” The words left her mouth as the first loud bang of the shot rang out. She ducked forward and put her arms over her head out of reflex. 

Wanda felt the anxious pit inside of her grow deeper. Half of her, the brave half, wanted to show them what she was really made of. The other part of her was actually terrified. Being in the middle of all the action made her bravado believable, easy even, but inside she was still that scared little girl– covered in her parents’ blood in the rubble of her childhood home. She was accustomed to the sounds of war; they haunted her. Her dreams were too vivid, her skin too sensitive, her eyes, her heart– the terror could swallow her whole.

She spoke quietly to herself “ _quit hiding, Wanda_ ,” as she straightened back up, the shots ringing out in the opposite direction. The people around them fractured further, running back towards relative ‘safety.’ The Sentinels continued, not stopping until they emptied their barrels. She unconsciously shuffled closer to Steve, feeling the cold seep into her both physically and emotionally. “The noises bother me. I know it is stupid to keep coming out here– “ She shook her head, not knowing how to explain herself. “I feel useful here. I can deal with my feelings inside, alone. This is bigger than me, no? This is a whole species being put up on the block.” She was saying that last part more to herself than to Steve, as if she needed to convince herself that the riots were worth all the turmoil they gave her.

“Every time people try to stop a war before it starts, it ends badly. I think that’s what they’re trying to do here. They’re afraid, plain and simple, and it makes them stupid,” Steve returned. How many times had he seen it before? Before, people had always told him that history repeated itself; the future had always been ahead of them, but it was a direct reflection ( a warped mirror ) of the past. When he woke up in a new century, he hadn’t believed it to be true. The buildings were too tall, the food was too different, the culture was so loud and busy – there was no way these people were making the _same_ mistakes. Surely, they had **learned**. 

Just over a week later, they showed him the Tesseract. 

That had been a repeat of _one faction_ of the war; this was the beginning of the **entire** war, all over again. The only ones stopping that from happening were these mutants, braving chemicals and hell for a glimpse of a better life. “I appreciate that, but I feel I should tell you that I’m not a mutant – just an experiment that proved too effective.” He followed her gaze to the high rooftops, and his frown only deepened. The more he learned, the less he liked. “There’s a time and a place for snipers; this isn’t it.”

He lowered his head as shots fired, doing exactly as she said. ( It reminded him of another time, of another place half a world away – snow covered and half-collapsed. “ _Cover me!_ ” he had yelled, running through a sudden flurry of bullets to reach Dum Dum, the idiot who had gotten injured, and trusting Bucky to have his back. **A lifetime ago.** ) It seemed she was suffering from her own memories, and he could do little more than step a hint closer, ready to shield her if it came to it. “Places like this remind you exactly why you’re still fighting,” he added, still wary of stray bullets. “We can follow them – make sure no one gets hurt too bad for as long as we can – or we can leave. I know someone who might be able to lend a hand, but his building is farther downtown, if you’re up for it.”

Wanda felt frustrated. At the situation, at herself. Her fear was weakness: she would stomp it down. She straightened her back, feeling her eyes blaze red. “We can follow them, I won’t let my own childish fears stop us from keeping an eye on them.”

“It’s not childish to be afraid,” he countered. Fear was as human an emotion as love; it could either crush someone to dust or diamond, and it was always a gamble which one it would be. After all, it was only when fear pulsed through the blood thick and heavy that bravery could arise. ( Heroes were forged from fear and an unwillingness to accept it. ) 

She gave him a stale smile, knowing it didn’t reach her eyes. “And it makes no difference to me that you aren’t a mutant– you’re here, that’s what matters. Besides, I was an experiment too.” Years under HYDRA’s thumb flashed in her mind. She and her brother, bleeding for a new world. The scientists said Pietro and Wanda were the only ones to ever survive the experiments. ( She almost wished she didn’t. ) “They called me a **miracle**. Nothing is more horrifying than a miracle.” She twisted her face when she said it, the words sour in her mouth.

Wanda knew her power was too much. The lack of control, the chaos that lived inside with her– it was terrifying. The experiments took her from a mutant to something wholly **other**. She was being careful to not let her mind reach out, to not breach his privacy, but what she had picked was pure. Everyone had a dark side, she knew that, but she didn’t feel on edge in his presence. She was calmer somehow. She kicked one of empty tear gas canisters out of her way as they begun to follow the crowd of Sentinels and police inward. “I will fight, I’ll always fight. I was raised for it. But I hate it. I’m tired of it. It seems like you are tired of it too.”

Her words struck him, honest and real as she made them, but he didn’t believe for a damn second she was reading his thoughts, regardless of her ability to. There was something very close to trust blossoming between them. “No one was born to fight; no one was made to know nothing but war. It just…happens sometimes – doesn’t matter if I’m tired of it or not. I got nothing else to do.”

The word _miracle_ continued to hang heavy in the air, and he felt a twist in his gut than was usually only reserved for HYDRA. His experiments had been willing – born out of a desperate urge to fight alongside those who had spent far too long overseas, away from family and familiarity – but he couldn’t help but wonder if whoever had changed her had been doing it because they wanted to or she wanted to. They called her a **miracle** , but miracles were never known as such until long after they were gone. 

“Who were _they_?” 

“They were HYDRA.” She spoke softly, careful to not let anyone hear them speak while confirming his worst suspicion. Throwing around the word _HYDRA_ would draw unnecessary attention. “It was of my own free will, technically. I was young and angry. I couldn’t control my powers, Pietro and I had nothing. We were told we would save Sokovia.” She laughed though it held no humor. “They didn’t tell me that they would steal my soul. It was hell and I put myself there.” Recounting her time with HYDRA was embarrassing to her now. She had naive and wounded, grasping at straws for the sake of her country. “They, of course, never cared about Sokovia. I never learned to control my powers; in fact, they made it worse.” Her head was swimming, dark memories dancing through her mind. “The things they did to me, the things they made me do. It was a nightmare. But it was my fault, so how can I–” She stopped, unable to continue. “Was it them? HYDRA– that experimented on you?” She asked, watching the barely contained rage flash behind his eyes when she said the word.

She hoped her question wasn’t too invasive, though she doubted it would be. Whatever it was, there was a thread between them. A connection, an understanding of some sort. Despite having only just met, she opened up to him when she would usually close herself off. It was rare a safe space; Wanda didn’t take that lightly. It had been a lifetime since she last felt safe.

His footsteps had paused as HYDRA was mentioned. ( Did the organization strangle every beautiful thing it touched, as if it was some twisted sort of weed bent on nothing but destruction? ) Anger, _indignation_ , was not a wholly unknown thing to Steve; it had led him into HYDRA facility after HYDRA facility for the past year, looking to hunt down and strangle the bastards who had been staining his life – the world – for damn near a century. His jaw tightened for a moment, and he glanced back to others in the crowd, back toward the fear and chaos. “You were doin’ it to protect your country. Don’t blame yourself for what HYDRA did. They have a way of twisting things in order to get what they want, so they told you exactly what you wanted to hear.” Bucky, Wanda, nameless others… How many **assets** had they tried to forge out of pain? “It wasn’t your fault. I’ve seen what HYDRA can do, what they can turn people into. It’s not your fault; it’s _theirs_ , plain and simple.” 

_They stole my life_ , he wanted to say. _They’ve made me so goddamn tired_.  
They carved a list on his chest of those he had failed, and that list just kept growing longer.  
He should have killed them back in the war. 

“No, it wasn’t HYDRA for me. I **chose** this too, so I could fight for my country and take care of others for once. I wanted to…” Prove himself? Be apart of something greater? It felt a lifetime ago since Dr. Eskine was pouring himself a glass in congratulations for what they would accomplish together. “I was chosen for a program sponsored by the government for the government. I was meant to fight HYDRA, be the first of many, but things don’t go the way they’re supposed to, do they? HYDRA stormed the place, shot the man who helped me, and it seems I’ve been throwing punches against them ever since.” 

Once again, Wanda didn’t have to look in his head to hear what he wasn’t saying. “It isn’t your fault either, Steven. Whatever failings you are blaming yourself for…none of it is your fault. The weight of the world isn’t meant to be held by just one man.” She knew the way guilt could wrap around a person, tinging everything it touched. The same way anger did. Those feelings, those _human_ feelings, controlled people far more than any powers or serums or experiments could. “I lose myself from time to time. My powers warp reality; sometimes they warp me, too. Maybe we could compliment each other– you could remind that this is all real. I could bear a little of that weight.” 

“It’s good of you to say.” He wanted to believe her – to let go of those dark doubts he had been harboring since the Winter Soldier had appeared. _What if_ ’s were dangerous things, but they whispered into his ears every night. ( What if you had jumped after him? What if you had kept looking? What if you had dived from the plane instead of been so resigned to your fate – so eager to die as the martyr instead of live as the broken? ) He imagined she had her own what if’s, and so, for once, he forced himself to believe her. If she gave him hope, perhaps she would retain some for herself. “You ever think about doing anything else?”

He started walking again toward Stark Tower, but he changed his mind after only going a few feet. She shouldn’t have to deal with questions and curiosity right now, but they tumbled out of him before he could help himself. It had been a long day, and he found himself altering their course, moving instead to the little drug store on the corner of the street. “Maybe we could pick up some water for the protesters first. It looks like they’ll be here a while, and after all that smoke, they could probably use it.” 

“That’s thoughtful. They could definitely use it. I can grab something to put on this burn as well.” They were through the doors of the pharmacy before she finally answered his question. “Like you said, I got nothing else to do.” The words sounded strange in her accented English. “I could be a weapon of mass destruction or I could be a tool for justice. For myself, for my family, for my country and now for this country, I am choosing the latter.”

“I’m glad you chose that way then.” His footsteps picked up again, and he made his way to the back of the small store for the bottles of water he knew waited. ( Bottled water was still a new concept to him, but he supposed it was a damn useful one in situations like this. ) “You’ve clearly already made a difference to these people.”

She watched quietly as he picked up a couple of the water cases before walking back up to the front, politely greeting the girl behind the counter as she slid a twenty on the counter to pay for the water and first aid supplies. She heard Steve start to protest and held up a hand. “Don’t you dare.” She grabbed the bag, nudging him with her shoulder as they walked towards the door. Despite the very heavy contents of their conversations, she felt lighter. She knew the lightness wouldn’t last; that feeling ( the hurricane inside of her ) was just below the surface. She could feel it at the base of her neck. In the pit of her stomach. In the space right behind her eyes. 

“I am not sure that I have made a difference, as you say. The people will liberate themselves, I just want to be a part of that.”

He grabbed the other water case, following after her. It was stepping from calm straight back into the chaos of the outside world, but he felt slightly… _better_ about the whole ordeal, as if it had become much more manageable. “A balance, you could say. I like that.” He smiled, glancing back toward the crowd. They could do this. “Looks like we got a lot of work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I briefly mentioned, I wrote this over a really long, wonderful period of time with Cami! I’ve brought Steve Rogers to life based on the MCU (excluding Age of Ultron), whereas she’s taken influence for Wanda Maximoff from a mixture of movies and comics. The big differences are that Wanda and Pietro “volunteered” with HYDRA without recognizing what they intended to do (it’s super important to us to remember the heritage of the Maximoff twins that the movies forgot), and when she went in… Well, she was pregnant with twins (looks pointedly at Billy and Tommy) -- something HYDRA ensured did not last. She and Pietro escaped when their base was raided by SHIELD agents and made their way to New York. I doubt any of this will come up, but it’s just a little backstory! Alright, I hope you’ll stick with us, because this is only the beginning… Watch it evolve as we did.


	2. come find me

The newscaster shifted nervously in her seat, eyeing the prompter with vague discomfort. The man beside her glanced her way with a wary uncertainty, but before he could offer any help, she continued with the broadcast. “Executive Order Number 9066b…” Adjusting the papers before her, she still could not quite make eye contact with the camera. “In an atmosphere of hysteria and riots that the Sentinels seem unable to control, the President has been advised by officials throughout the federal government that the _temporary internment_ of mutants and powered citizens is the only solution.” 

She paused, and as if sensing the disagreement she was trying to swallow, her coworker continued with the report. “The order authorizes the transportation of these citizens to assembly centers constructed on the outskirts of the city – away from the heart of the population. National security measures have essentially wiped these individuals of their civil liberties, and mutants from all over the surrounding area are being brought in regardless of their community standing.” Information flashed on the bottom of the screen, and he let out a small sigh. “If the government has your powers on record or you are caught using them, you are strongly suggested to relocate to the closest center to you. If not, you may be escorted there by the Task Force assigned to the city.” 

“We will provide more information as the story develops,” the newscaster finished. 

Across the city, a mutant’s phone rang. 

 

STEVE: Hi, Wanda? It's Steve. I saw the news. Are you alright?

WANDA: Steven, hi. I actually just saw the news too. I'm sure they will be here to round me up soon; I'm all over their files. I...honestly? I don't know what to do.

STEVE: You gotta get out of there. I don't know what they know about you, but they probably have enough information to come prepared. Do you have anywhere to go -- friends, family, a safehouse? God, I'm so sorry it's come to this. I knew it was bad but... I'm going to do what I can.

WANDA: Pietro is all I have. I sent him off, he has some friends outside the city. I hate to leave him but they will come for me first and I can't risk him getting caught. In Sokovia, we would sometimes squat abandoned buildings to hide from the soldiers. I could do that, at least for tonight. --I'm scared and angry. I'll kill them...if they find me, I'll kill them all. I don't want to be a killer, Steven, but I won't let them make me a prisoner.

STEVE: You're not squatting in an abandoned building! Look, I don't have much place in my apartment, but Stark has about a hundred extra rooms in that tower of his. You don't have to be a killer; you can just stay out of the public eye for a few days until we figure out a more permanent solution. Let me help you, Wanda. It's the least I could do.

WANDA: Stark ... Please, tell me you are not speaking of Tony Stark? ... Steven, you're the only person -- with Pietro hiding, you are essentially the only person I can trust. But if you are offering me a place to stay under the roof of Tony Stark…

STEVE: Yeah, Tony Stark. I know what the news says about him. Hell, when I first met him, I thought he was nothin' but a spoiled, rich... Well, anyways, that's wrong. He's a good man, and I trust him. You'll be safe there -- and your brother too.

WANDA: Tony Stark may be your friend, but he is not a good man. He is a murderer. The name Stark has lived in my nightmares for fourteen years; I'll faster climb into bed with the Devil himself. ... Can I see you? I want to-- I'd like to tell you a story and I can't do it over the telephone.

STEVE: ...I'll meet you in fifteen minutes.

 

Wanda sat alone in a booth in the small diner Steve had suggested they meet at. She was studying her hands. Slender fingers adorned with a few silver rings and chipped black nail polish ( basically a trademark at this point ) were currently wrapped around a cup of coffee that was still too hot to drink. She briefly mused about the destruction she could cause with such unsuspecting hands.

When he called her to check on her earlier, she felt a shard of the ice that had splintered her heart for so long thaw. They had bonded at the riots, a connection forged in gas and screams and terror, so she shouldn’t have been shocked by his concern for her. She would help him bear the weight. He would remind her it was all real. _Let me help you_. Had anyone ever chosen her before? Pietro, of course. But Pietro was an extension of herself – they shared a soul. It wasn’t the same. This was different.

But the name Stark didn’t sound right in his voice. They were _friends_? Once again, Tony Stark fell through the ceiling of her shelter ( could a person be a shelter? ) and left her reeling. 

She was so lost in herself, drowning in her own dark ocean, that she didn’t notice him until he sitting right in front of her, laying a hand on her arm to get her attention. She glanced up, a watery, broken smile forming on her lips. “Hi, Steven.”

Maybe it wasn’t right to have an image of Wanda burned so brightly into his mind. Steve had only just met her, yet at the riots, there stood the portrait of someone who had shattered so wholly once upon a time, pieced themselves together, and refused to allow such a thing to happen again. Perhaps that was why the quake in her voice had disturbed him on the phone, perhaps that was why he hadn’t expected that look in her eyes when he got her attention and sat beside her. Why would anyone be afraid of Tony Stark? 

He continued to glance around even as he took a seat, searching for any hints of the Task Force that would whisk her away. ( He had always been terrible at not being blatantly obvious. ) The last time he had been wrought with such paranoia was when SHIELD had proclaimed him a dangerous man; now, his paranoia was purely for the other woman. It was strange that this – the anger, the mistrust, being on the run – was beginning to feel more normal than times of peace.

“Hello, Wanda.” He smiled, a reflection of her broken expression echoing on his lips as he slipped into the booth. He had wanted her calm and comfortable, and the diner was the first place that popped into his mind at such a description. The owners never made him feel like anything other than a customer – no special treatment, no lingering stares. People called the place _vintage_ , but it felt…normal to him, and he poured himself a cup, although it lay forgotten as soon as it was poured. “Hi.”

She watched him pour a cup of coffee, studying his hands instead of hers now. Rough. Large. Strong. And yet for some reason, they seemed less foreboding than hers. Her hands, that brought buildings down and burned cities and made people scream out _please God, make it stop_. Her hands, that contained too much. _It’s too much; it’s too much; it’s too much._

“I’m sorry if I surprised you on the phone. And I’m sorry for dragging you out here and taking you away from whatever plans you had for the evening.” She tried to smile apologetically. It fell, twisted on her face. “And I’m sorry for – I don’t want to seem unappreciative. Offering me a place to stay is was so kind. But I cannot stay in Tony Stark’s palace.” She paused, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she saw red reflected in the window. Make it stop. “I suppose you are asking yourself: what could Tony Stark have done to this strange girl? What evil, what crime could he have committed that would shake her so deeply.” She laughed to herself, a soft sound. “I’ll tell you now.”  
She unwound her hands from around the cup and pulled her legs up into the booth with her, retracting in on herself as a defense for the pain she was about to unleash by stabbing at unhealed wounds.

“When I was ten years old, my home was destroyed by a mortar shell. I remember it vividly. It was a Wednesday evening. Dinner time. My father had been scolding Pietro for eating sweets without finishing his food.” _Pietro, how will you grow if you do not eat your food?_ “I remember the sound. It was deafening and fast, too fast. It was like we knew it was coming but were frozen in place. I watched my mother, she tried to reach across for us but hell fell through our ceiling.” _Make it stop_. “Pietro was clutching my hand. One of us were screaming but I couldn’t tell his voice from mine, my ears were ringing. I looked to my left and met the eyes of my father. He stared straight through me. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t blinking because he was dead.” Her words were rapid; she took a breath to slow down. “My mother was farther away, her body was contorted into some unrecognizable shape. Bones weren’t supposed to bend that way.” She stopped again, taking a drink of her now cold coffee to wet her dry mouth. “Moments later, another shell hit. Only this one didn’t explode. It stood, proud and tall in front of our dead parents, and don’t you know who’s name adorned it?” _Make it stop_. “We stayed, trapped under the rubble and the bodies, for two days. Every shift of the bricks, every rescue attempt, I stared upward thinking ‘this will set it off.’ For two days, we waited for Tony Stark to kill us.”

– What could he say to that?  
How to describe the plethora of emotions rushing through him at her tale? 

For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers found himself speechless, all chance of words and prayer snatched from his lips. His hand slipped over hers in the only hint of comfort he could give, but he felt frozen – paused in that never ending moment of terror that Wanda must have felt. Beneath the ache in his chest for the childhood snatched from her ( the first causalities of war were always childhoods ), there remained the sheer denial. He knew Tony; he knew the history of the man’s company that had led him to create Iron Man. 

He couldn’t believe… 

Yet before Iron Man, Tony Stark had been the biggest name in weapons, and what were weapons designed for but to kill people? Who did you blame in that situation – those who had built them or those who had launched them? 

“Wanda…” Her name held with it all the emotions he dared not speak. ( How had he made it carry the same depth and loneliness to it as the stars? ) “I don’t expect you to forgive him. You suffered something no kid – no person – should ever have to go through. Those memories stay on your shoulders, joining in with the weight of the world.” She was truly the Atlas between them. “I know you’re strong; I know you’re smart. So please believe me when I say you’ve got a right to want to tear down those who did this to you, but Tony Stark… He’s been trying to make right the wrongs his company has done in his name for as long as I’ve known him.”

Wanda stared at his hand over hers, an inexplicable feeling settling around them. His thoughts were so loud, so broken. She could see his brain working, seeing double: the girl in front of him as well as the little girl in the rubble.

When he said her name, his voice wrapping around it like some sort of unanswered prayer, a dam broke in the center of her chest. She felt a strangled noise escape her, her eyes sliding shut against the onslaught of tears she could feel rushing forward. She shook her head against them, blinking furiously to keep them from falling. They pooled, unshed. _Make it stop_. 

“He is your friend, and I must respect that. He has done good things, I respect that as well. I can respect that he is trying to make up for his sins. But you have to understand, for me, Tony Stark and Iron Man are the same person. That man that saved the world, who flew through the hole in the sky – he is the same man whose weapons turned my dining room into a mass grave. I can’t distinguish between the two. I’ve tried.” She took a deep breath, it stuttered. _**Make it stop**_. “I wanted to kill him. I wanted to do worse than kill him.” Her own frankness shocked her. “Some days, the only thing that keeps me going is my anger, and I want to burn this world up in my rage, Steven; I want to melt the elements and have the world know it was me who did it.” She stared at her hands again, twisting her fingers around each other. “But I won’t do that. This world is as evil as it is innocent, and I’ve seen the big picture. I’ve seen the little picture.” 

She pulled the long necklace off from around her neck, opening it up and rubbing her thumb over the photo inside. It had burn marks on the sides. She slid it over to him. “It’s for them that I want to show this world what a ~~miracle~~ monster really is.“ Her words were like acid, burning only her. “But it is also for them that I won’t ever do it. That I won’t pull Stark apart and see what his insides are really made of. That I won’t fall into my rage even though it’s beckoning to me.” Forgiveness was a word she couldn’t even think. Not yet. Fourteen years was still too soon.

 _I wanted to do worse than kill him_. 

Steve remembered the anger that could accompany grief. When Bucky had fallen from his grip, there had been no shortness of anger. He had been in a war zone, and those emotions burst forth with every splay of bullets, every curling of his fist. He tried to think of what it would have been like to lose the man ( one soul, split in two ) when he was a boy, with no one but a millionaire across the world to blame and turn that anger toward. “Sometimes, not giving into that rage is all you can do.” Yes, he remembered that anger that could accompany grief – but he also remembered the crunch of bones beneath his fists, beneath his shield, that came about as a result of it. He had done worse than killed the HYDRA agents he came across; he had created mosaics with their massacres. ( No one liked to think about Captain America’s body count. ) “Releasing it isn’t something you can ever take back.” 

He set aside his coffee and placed some money on the table to pay for each of their drinks, smiling softly at the waitress who eyed them each warily. Two time bombs _tick, tick, tick_ ing toward an explosion. “I’ve got a place on the couch you can stay, if you want. Not very comfortable, but there’s a recliner right next to it for your brother.”

“A couch is okay. It’s perfect, honestly .” She attempted a smile, anything to wash the dark out of his eyes. Still, it lingered. “I don’t want to crowd you, though. Pietro has some friends scattered around the city, so it would just be me. If you’ll still have me.”

“I’ll get you a spare key then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, thanks for reading (again) (always)


	3. flesh and bone

Steve had opened his apartment ( and several parts of Stark’s tower, permission pending ) to mutants who needed a place to lay low for a few nights, but so far, it was only Wanda who accepted his offer. With no shortage of protests from his guest, he had taken up residence on the couch. Rarely did he spend longer than three hours at the apartment, but he had come back from his mission – a mission SHIELD did not know about – late in the evening hours and had fallen to the sofa, bruised and exhausted. “Hope I wasn’t too loud comin’ in,” he half-mumbled, hearing the faint steps that signified Wanda Maximoff.

Wanda padded into the living the room upon hearing Steve come in. She threw him a grin as she walked around the couch, tapping his legs to let her slip into the couch before pulling them back onto her lap so he could stretch out. “You’re fine. I feel uncomfortable falling asleep without knowing you are okay.” She shrugged, trying to come off nonchalant despite the fact that she was anything but. She knew his missions weren’t safe ( he was Captain America, after all ). “I made food earlier, saved you some. And you should take the bed tonight.” She twisted a bit, her arms resting on top of his legs. “Look at you. You’re exhausted, Steven. I feel guilty, I can’t let you continue to sleep out here.”

“If you wait up for me every time, you might be waitin’ a while.” He was too close to the end of his thread – too close to finding Bucky and what he knew as the last threats of HYDRA. If he stopped, the edges of his stone statue would begin to crumble to dust. “You left me some food? You shouldn’t have.” The old words ( _I can take care of myself_ ) died on his lips. “Bed’s too soft,” he finally admitted after a slight pause. His smile was slow coming, but it tugged at the corners of his lips as her arms rested on top of his legs. “Besides, I invited you as a guest. It’d make me the world’s worst host if I didn’t let you take it. It shouldn’t be too long now. I can’t imagine people will allow those Sentinels to terrorize the streets for much longer; they’re already growing restless, and a restless people are a dangerous people. Any idiot who’s read a history book knows that one.”

“You have to let me pull my own weight somehow, Captain.” She smiled again, rolling her eyes in jest. They both knew that she never really saw him as Captain America, despite the shield– he wasn’t a symbol to her. He was just Steven, safety and comfort and divinity. “I’m not waiting on you for you, I’m waiting on you for me. Purely selfish, I promise.” She caught the fatigue in his eyes, the strung out sort of look he’d been carrying since she’d met him. She glanced away, picking at a spot on her thumb as she spoke. “I know; you are more than able to take care of yourself. But if I can’t help you in the field, at least I can help you at home, no?” She hated feeling useless. Like a burden Steve was being forced to carry ( she knew that wasn’t the case but her own insecurities ate away at her like acid ) and she wanted to do something, anything to show that she was grateful. She didn’t deserve kindness like this. _You’re a ~~miracle~~ monster._

**Home.** It was such a simple word, yet it felt so easy falling from her lips, and he could not help but feel purely selfish for thinking such a thing – for feeling his shoulders relax as a small amount of weight lifted from them. He had not known her long enough to give her such a burden, yet here he was, forging some makeshift parody of a home out of helpful stubbornness and an agreement to do better. “So long as you promise,” he returned. “And thanks again. I really appreciate it.” 

“The people will grow tired of this game their government is playing soon enough. I’ve been part of the revolution.” She only hoped that this time it wouldn’t be false promises and mistakes and tragedy and blood and blood and blood. “It will be ugly. I am afraid this is only the beginning. I am afraid someone I care about will be hurt. And I’m afraid of what I’ll do if that happens.” _Afraid it will be you. Afraid of my city-sized burning heart. Miracle. **Miracle.**_ “I have this feeling…” She paused, leaning over to tap the center of his chest. “I feel it right there. It’s making me nervous. Something my soul knows that my brain doesn’t understand yet.” She let a dim smile grace her features as she shook away the thoughts.

_I’m afraid of what I’ll do if that happens._  
Miracle, they called her. Monster, others dubbed her. He knew that anyone afraid of such a reaction was something more.

“I won’t let that happen.” Steve had promised so much to so many people – Bucky ( until the end of the line ), Peggy ( rain check on that dance ), Sam ( you and me, pal ), Natasha ( I trust you )… Wanda tapped his chest, and he added her name to that list. Where he had failed so many others, he would fight tooth and nail to prevent that from happening with her. She had too much of a star inside of her, and what could a star do when failing besides erupt into a supernova, destroying and creating in one flash? “That won’t be how this ends.” 

She felt her eyes soften at his declaration and let the words curl around her, burrowing into them as if they would shield her from whatever horror was waiting on the outside.

If anyone could protect her from herself, from the intensity of what lived inside of her, of course it would be him. She was the Sun– giving and giving and glorious in her power. Devastating, of course. She’d called him Atlas but maybe he was Apollo. For who else could enter her orbit? Who else could survive her disaster?

“I made pasta,” she continued softly. “I think it turned out pretty good but I’m no Giada de Laurentiis.” She stretched her arms above her head before patting his legs again and wiggling out from under them, climbing over the back of the couch to walk to the kitchen. “I’ve been watching a lot of cooking shows, if you couldn’t tell. What do you want to drink?”

He didn’t get the reference, but it didn’t matter so much. _Cooking shows_ was something he understood, and he sat up, watching her move to the kitchen. “Water’s fine.” His stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d had something home cooked. “Can I ask you something?” He cleared his throat before continuing, and by the furrow of his brows, it was clear he thought on each word. “You said when we met you could read minds. How does that work?”

“It’s pretty straight-forward.” She hummed, flitting around the kitchen with ease as she grabbed a bowl of the pasta and a glass of water. She levitated them easily, letting her red energy carry them as she hopped back over the couch. She gave him an innocent wink as they landed on the table in front of him. “I can easily grab things off of the surface, things that are running in the forefront of your mind. Like grabbing a fish from from a stream.” She folded her legs under her, facing him as she continued with her explanation. “With a bit more concentration, I can go back years, decades, find things that you didn’t even know were there. If I wanted, I’m sure I could have a running commentary on everything going on in your mind. But I can turn it off.” She cocked her head to the side before revising her statement. “Well, not off. I can dull it. It sounds like a buzz in my head. I could tune it and get a clear read.” 

Steve watched with a wide, fascinated gaze as she levitated the bowl toward him. It wasn’t often where he could simply admire the grace of her power – _**miracle**_. He was beginning to understand how she had reclaimed the title and made it pure again. He picked up the bowl as she explained her power to him, and that poisonous flower of hope began to blossom in his chest. It was a selfish wish, but God forgive him if he had turned into a selfish man. 

She let her hand rest on his thigh as she leaned forward, plucking a noodle from his bowl. She feigned an apology, a light smile playing at her lips. The simple familiarity of it made her feel dizzy. She cleared her throat. “Why do you ask?”

Her touch was warm, and his cheeks darkened at the playfulness of it all. “I – ” He swallowed his words ( they were too awkward and heavy for the lightness of the moment ), and instead, he leaned forward and plucked a noodle from her bowl too, giving her quiet laughter in exchange for it. Sometimes, it was hard to differentiate between what was good and what was right, and now was proving to be one of those moments. Even as his laughter faded, his smile remained, small and soft and filled with a dozen stories he wanted to share with her. 

“I trust you, Wanda. You gotta know that, before I say anything else.” 

How many people had he told – three, four? He could count them on one hand, yet he needed her to listen, to understand why he had posed the question to her. He could hear the beat of his heart ( _thrum, thrum, thrum_ ), and he took a breath. 

“Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier?” His gaze moved down to the food in hand, and he twirled the pasta absentmindedly. “He was HYDRA’s…plaything.” The fork in his hand threatened to snap as he said the word. “He’s my friend. I just wanted to know if there was anything you could do to help him. Last time I saw him, he didn’t remember…me, not really. I understand if there’s not, but I had to ask. That’s where I’ve been most nights. He’s out there, and – ” 

( _Thrum, thrum, thrum._ )   
He took a bite of food, if only to stop himself.

She sobered at his words. Trust was such a precious thing and his trust meant more to her than she was ready to admit. She was being swallowed by him and she was terrified of it, but more than that– she trusted him, too. 

When he stopped talking, she took the moment of quiet to grab his hand. This time, she wasn’t trying to flirt or be cute. She wanted to comfort him, to give him even a fraction of the safety and stability that he had given her. She weaved her fingers between his as her soft voice broke the silence. 

“James Barnes, yes? I knew him. Well, I didn’t know him. But I thought I did.” She paused, trying to find the right words to explain what exactly she meant. “When they had me, I heard about him. Often. I never met him but you have to understand, my mind was so fragile. In my head, I fabricated this friendship between the two of us. I dreamed of the day all of us would escape– me and Pietro and James and others. HYDRA’s miracles. It was a dead dream.” She took a breath, reminding herself to slow her words so her accent wouldn’t eat them. “I saw him some weeks ago in the city. I approached him, I forgot that he doesn’t actually know me…that I had made it all up. I think he wanted to strangle me. He didn’t, though.” She felt her lips twitch in a ghost of a smile “Thank you for asking me to help you bear this weight.” She squeezed his hand impossibly tighter, as if through osmosis she could pour her feelings into him.

“I know, more than anyone, that who he is and what they made him are not the same thing. I will do everything in my power to help him, Steven. It won’t be easy; he has seventy years of repressed memories, but I can find them and I can give them back to him.” _I’ll bring your friend back to you. I’ll move the earth for you. I’ll give you everything. Don’t you know that?_ “Whatever you need, whatever I have to offer…it’s yours.”

He stared at their entwined hands, and his smile broke.   
He heard her say the Winter Soldier’s name, and the pieces shattered. 

“ – Bucky. His name is Bucky.” Giving her this information was different than giving her a file; it was giving her a piece of himself – that small sliver that prodded at his heart every time he thought peace was creeping near. “He ~~would’ve~~ will like you, I think. There was always a rebellion brewin’ in him, and I see the same thing in you.” A hurricane; a symbol of destruction and creation; a calico print of light and dark. He stood up from the couch but paused for a moment, leaning down to press a hesitant kiss to her cheek before continuing toward the kitchen to refill his glass. ( It was as flimsy an excuse as any. ) “I owe you everything already, Wanda. There’s nothing more you can give.”

“Bucky.” Wanda repeated the name softly to herself. The meaning of it wasn’t lost on her. This was Steve peeling himself open, letting her see the most vulnerable parts of him. She could see into him, see his pulsing heart and his bones stripped bare, and this wasn’t a super-power, this was trust in action. Her hands were the perfect size to slip in between those empty parts, to patch the broken pieces that the ribs guarded. The moment was nothing short of intimate, so tender she could quite literally weep.

She watched the way his lungs reacted when his breath hitched, only slightly, as he kissed her cheek. Her hand reflexively went up to rest on that spot as she sat silently on the couch. She wondered to herself when the air had become so thick. Why was it suddenly hard to breathe?

Maybe she was a monster, maybe she was a miracle. Maybe she didn’t see a difference between the two anymore. Maybe she would unravel, maybe she would pull worlds apart, maybe she would burn. All she knew was that she would shelter Steve Rogers the same way he sheltered her. She thinks she might move the heavens for this bleeding man.

She gathered their dishes from the table, joining him in the kitchen to rinse them off. She had yet to speak, her voice was still choked somewhere in the back of her throat. She washed them quietly, focusing on the task until she could breathe easier. She finally spoke as she turned back to him. “Owe? There is nothing to owe, Steven.” She leaned up on her tiptoes, pressing the same soft kiss to his cheek that he had pressed to hers. “This is what I was talking about. The feeling in my soul that I couldn’t understand; this is it.”


	4. vacant grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's this....

He remembered feeling nervous. 

Speeches were not his strength. He was designed in the image of a soldier, and the only art he could create was with lead in his hands, not words born from his tongue. Sam Wilson gave him a pat on a shoulder in encouragement, but they needed a golden boy for the announcement. If they were to take a stand against government-issued mandates, they needed the strongest defense they could give. ( The country had a way of looking at their captain and seeing only stone perfection. ) They needed propaganda, and while he may have been designed in the image of a soldier, he came of age under the flag of propaganda.

He agreed. In turn, SHIELD agents were to be set up along the parameter, part of the strong defense that would be needed.

“I know this is a tough time,” Captain America began his speech to the seemingly endless crowd in the plaza, all cameras pointed in his direction and all other discussion faded to whispers. Some carried signs supporting the Avengers, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, the Fantastic Four, heroes, heroes, and more heroes; others carried signs demanding repayment for lost livelihoods dealt in their battles. They called for Sentinels and camps for mutants -- out of sight, out of mind. He could hear their hearts beating as one despite it all. 

The air practically sizzled with tension, as if everyone knew that this PSA had the opportunity to diffuse it and remind the public who the good guys were. They looked to him, and the nerves faded. “When things get difficult, we aren’t the sort to give up and let that difficulty win. We push back – so I guess I don’t see what good it does for us to give up on our heroes when they still haven’t given up on us.” 

Clearing his throat, he continued: “That said, there needs to -- ” 

B A N G . 

No, _no_ \-- not here, not _now_. 

The first shot did not register with the crowd for a full beat of their heart; the second shot sent them screaming into a panic. From his podium, the crowd looked like one body, limbs sprawling in every direction as fear wrapped around them all. It had to be HYDRA. It had to be HYDRA. _It had to be HYDRA_. The words were a mantra, cold and cruel, as he moved to action. 

This whole show was meant to demonstrate heroes could protect and serve in a way they always had; the shots ringing loud above the screams turned Steve’s words to a mockery before him. Without hesitation, ~~Steve Rogers~~ Captain America was running toward the crowd, ushering a family behind him. It was an automatic response – as easy as breathing for him. When one of the SHIELD agents called his name, he expected to see them doing the same. He didn’t expect the bang that followed, nor the sudden blossom of pain in his stomach. He blinked. Another shot rang. B A N G . He wasn’t sure which was worse: the pain of the bullets or the pain of pushing others away before he fell.

He had always been a martyr, hadn’t he? Once ~~and maybe still~~ , he carried dreams of dying in a war for a greater cause; he didn’t see a much greater cause than this. At least he had gotten one family out, right? At least he had done something. ( But did it have to be now? With love on the tip of his tongue, with the flashes of Bucky’s whereabouts, with a future spreading before him… one he’d never thought would be his. ) His hands found the wound in his stomach, but he couldn’t feel the red flowing from it. Funny thing was that he couldn’t feel anything. 

He didn’t understand why the agent had the same eyes as the Winter Soldier – cold, calculated, washed of humanity in a lab that he thought he burned down. Betrayal flickered in his gaze as he stared at the agent, and then suddenly, he was staring past them, unable to focus on the agent anymore than he could focus on the chaos around him.

Breathing wasn’t so easy anymore. He was on the ground, although he couldn’t remember ending up there, and he looked toward the crowd, hoping, hoping, hoping someone stepped up to protect them. ( Was Wanda pushing her way through, anger turning eyes and hands brilliant crimson?) He had failed the rest, and all he could think of were the apologies he never got a chance to say. The edges of his vision crept with shadows, and fighting them back suddenly seemed an exhausting task. ( Think of Bucky, Stevie. Think of how pissed he’ll be if you fucking die here. ) He struggled to stir, trying to rise, but pain shot through him, pure and bright, bright red. ( Think of Sam, Rogers. You can’t do that to him again. ) Knuckles white with exertion, he moved. ( Think of Wanda, for God’s sake. She’ll destroy every goddamn person here. ) He was praying, although his lips didn’t move. When was the last time he prayed? Too damn long; he hoped God would forgive him for that one too. ( Natasha, Tony, Bruce, Sharon, Peggy, Thor, Sam… Wanda... Wanda… ) 

He fell against the ground unconscious, red still pouring from him, and with it, that life he wanted so bad to be his.

 

“I’m not afraid to die,” he said to himself, to no one, to everyone -- a mumbled response, come to life as the ambulance sirens scream nearby.

Wanda Maximoff sat with god in her lap.

His words caused a hysterical laugh to bubble out of her, shocking against the dead quiet. Dead. Bodies littered the streets. They were victors. What was the cost? ~~Bleeding god~~. It painted her skin crimson. His blood on her hands. Marya, Django, Pietro -- their blood on her hands. Guilty. Failure. No, _no_.

It was everywhere. She was everywhere. And nowhere. Celestial. The power was its own self ( confusing, as it shared her body ).

Minutes passed. Hours, maybe? Time did not exist on this plane.

She looked to the light. God bled no longer.


End file.
